Being Teddy Roosevelt by Claudia Mills Page A

exaggeration. But not a big exaggeration.
    Sophie gave a little squeal of delight. “I love tea parties!”
    Erika gave a little snort of disgust. Riley gathered that Erika did not love tea parties.
    Grant raised his hand. “We can be whoever we want, right?”
    Mrs. Harrow shook her head. “Oh, no, dear. I let the children pick one year, and I got only football players and rock stars. I’ve prepared two hats filled with names, one for boys and one for girls. You will draw from the hats to find out the subject of your biography.”
    For the first time, Riley noticed two hats perched on Mrs. Harrow’s desk. The black stovepipe Abe Lincoln hat must be for the boys. The flowered straw hat must be for the girls.

    The first girl to choose got Pocahontas, an Indian princess.
    The first boy to choose got Napoleon, the French emperor.
    Sophie got Helen Keller, the blind and deaf woman. She didn’t squeal with delight this time.
    Erika got Florence Nightingale. “Who’s Florence Nightingale?”
    “She was a famous nurse,” Mrs. Harrow said.
    “I don’t want to be a nurse.”
    “Well, dear, we all have to choose out of the hat.”
    “I don’t want to be a nurse,” Erika repeated. “I want to be someone who commands armies and rules empires and sinks ships.”
    “Well …” Riley knew Mrs. Harrow would give in. That was the only way of dealing with Erika. “I suppose you could be Queen Elizabeth the First.”
    Riley hoped he’d get some famous musician, like Beethoven or Duke Ellington, or even better, a sax player like Charlie Parker.
    He got President Teddy Roosevelt. That wasn’t too bad. Riley had seen a picture of Teddy Roosevelt once, wearing a uniform and sitting on a horse. But reading a hundred-page book about Teddy Roosevelt and writing a five-page paper about Teddy Roosevelt and trying to drink tea while wearing a mustache would be terrible.
    Grant got Mahatma Gandhi.
    “Gandhi!” Grant shouted. “The bald guy who sits cross-legged on the ground in his underwear?”
    “Gandhi, the great man who liberated India from the British,” Mrs. Harrow corrected.
    “Who liberated India from the British while sitting cross-legged on the ground in his underwear,” Grant moaned.
    Riley knew Grant wanted to refuse to be Gandhi. But only Erika ever refused to do things in school. Maybe Grant’s parents would buy him an extra game for having to be Gandhi.
    When everyone had drawn a name, Mrs. Harrow gave the class another big smile. “I can’t wait for this year’s biography tea!”
    Riley could wait. A tea party with Pocahontas, Napoleon, Helen Keller, Queen Elizabeth I, Mahatma Gandhi, and Teddy Roosevelt?
    No way!

2
    Music was the last period of the school day. Riley loved it. He didn’t really like to sing or do the dumb hand motions that went along with the songs. But he loved watching Mrs. Eldridge play the piano. She could play fast and loud, every note perfect, without looking at the music, without looking at the keys, and while yelling at the kids talking in the back row, all at the same time.
    It was impressive, all right.
    That day, another teacher was in the music room with Mrs. Eldridge, a tall man with dark hair and a big smile.
    “This is Mr. Simpson,” Mrs. Eldridge said. “He’s the band teacher, who is here to tell you about instrumental music. Instrumental music will start for fourth graders in four weeks, meetingin the cafeteria on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.”
    She sounded as excited about instrumental music as Mrs. Harrow had sounded about the biography tea. But this time Riley felt excited, too.
    “Do we have to do it?” Grant asked.
    “No. But it’s a wonderful opportunity for fourth graders to learn how to play an instrument.”
    Riley wanted to learn how to play an instrument. He saw that Mr. Simpson had a bunch of musical instruments laid out on a big table behind him. Riley recognized the skinny flute, and the trombone with its long slide, and the cool-looking